Something's Sketchy
by alexiasbooks
Summary: It's the ClarkKentSuperman question. Can a pair of glasses be sufficient disguise?
1. Dazed and Confused

**Disclaimer:** Attention important lawyer people: I do not claim to own any of these characters, the background story, the title of the show, or anything that could end up with me sitting at the defendant's table. I make no money off the possessions of others.

**A/N:** Okay, this one takes place sometime after the siege at Terminal City has been (somehow/magically/ignoring it) resolved. Life is getting back to normal, and everyone's back at Jam Pony. Cheers!

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**Something's Sketchy**

Chapter One: Dazed and Confused

It didn't start out as a particularly unusual day for the Sketchster. He woke up wondering where the hot chick he'd picked up at Crash was, and then realized that it was only a dream. That wasn't unusual. He'd then proceeded to realize he'd forgotten to do his laundry and spent ten minutes trying to decide which was the t-shirt that smelled the least. Then, on the way to work, he'd been rammed off his bike by one the messengers from the rival courier service that had, for some reason, declared war on Jam Pony. Still, he'd continued into work in a fairly good mood. He'd finally finished another freelance article for one the many liberal weeklies emerging on the West Coast, and he was hoping Max would give it to Logan to proofread before he sent it in. All he had to do was stay on Max's good side until 5:00, though that was often easier said than done.

As he rolled into Jam Pony, however, still nursing his sore head, he was immediately met by Normal's usual harangue about how they were all lazy slackers or whatever, and temporarily forgot his mission in order to rightfully defend himself. After all, he'd been injured preserving the honor and integrity of that great and respectable institution known as Jam Pony. His employer scowled, but no further comments were forthcoming. Termination averted, and feeling a little dazed, he began to look for a friendly face. He spotted Original Cindy by the lockers, and remembered that he still owed her a rather large sum of cash from the night before, and the night before that, but that wasn't unusual either. He put on his biggest, most charming smile, and prayed to the good Lord that she was in a lenient mood.

A group of messengers were clustered around the television, and Original Cindy was watching them, and mumbling under her breath at the same time. She turned to Sketchy when he approached, and, not even bothering with a greeting, gestured to the television, her voice raising in volume and aggression.

"Silly fools, waiting for something that may or may not happen. Original Cindy's not about waiting around all day for a little excitement. She's about making the money so she can go home on time and get her excitement there." She looked at him expectantly. Slightly wary of his friend's hostile tone, and having no idea what she was talking about, Sketchy approached hesitantly. He tried to keep his smile on his face, but knew it faltered.

"Uh… hey, OC. Have you seen Max?"

"Nope. I'm not sure she's gonna come in today." Well, at least Original Cindy was appeased for the moment. She no longer looked angry, but rather disappointed instead.

"Really? Why not?" He lowered his voice. Even though every single person in Jam Pony knew that Max was a transgenic, and that occasionally she had to ditch work in order to save the world, or whatever, he still felt the need to whisper when he talked about the less public side of her life. Original Cindy seemed to feel the same way, because she lowered her voice as well when she answered.

"She and Logan got into a huge fight last night. It was ugly. I know, 'cause she slept at our place instead of his." She scoffed then, and turned back to her locker to pull out a styrofoam cup of coffee, "Except by 'sleep' I mean she was up all night driving this girl nuts with all her pacing."

Over by the television set, one of the messengers shouted, "Turn it up!" but Sketchy and Original Cindy barely noticed. She continued to rant on about how she ordered Max to take the day to clear her head, but Sketchy soon zoned out as he realized that he was hearing another voice nearby – a voice he recognized. Sweet! Logan must have come in to see if Max was around! Sketchy dove into his backpack to retrieve his article, and jogged out from behind the lockers. To his surprise, however, Logan was nowhere in sight.

"Weird," he muttered, scratching his head, only to wince in pain as his fingers hit the quickly swelling bruise on his forehead.

"Sketch?" Original Cindy asked, sounding concerned. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Sketchy answered, feeling really dumb, which wasn't unusual. "I just thought I heard Logan, and I want him to look this over for me…"

"Shut up!" One of the other messengers shouted. "Eyes Only's on!"

Sure enough, when Sketchy focused on the television he saw the familiar red, white, and blue screen. Weird. Original Cindy turned to him, cocking an eyebrow, but a look Sketchy didn't recognize clouded her eyes. It was gone in a second, replaced by concern, but it still left Sketchy confused.

"That's some head wound you got there," she pointed out. "How'd you get it?"

"Stupid turf war," Sketchy muttered, seriously beginning to wonder if he'd hit his head harder than he'd initially believed. He'd heard Eyes Only and thought it was Logan? That was weird.

* * *

**A/N: **Surprise! This is what I've been occasionally been working on instead of Grazia. It's just something new that captured my interest. TBC... 


	2. Paranoid

**A/N: **Two things I forgot to mention at the beginning of this story - (1) chapters will alternate between Sketchy's point of view, and Max's point of view (based solely on the principle of "I'm the author and I'll do whatever the hell I please,") and (2) virus? What virus?

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Chapter Two: Paranoid 

"Sketchy?" Logan asked, obviously trying not to let the skepticism drip so thickly from his voice.

"That's what OC says," Max shrugged. "She called as soon as he left for his first delivery."

Rather uncharacteristically, they were sitting at a significant distance from each other, practically on opposite sides of the room, and the atmosphere in the apartment was barely civil. She still couldn't believe he'd done that morning's hack, even after she'd asked him not to. He'd only done it to taunt the people at the District Attorney's office, because they were openly searching for him. The DA had just announced the night before – live on television – that Eyes Only would be in their hands within a week. Both Logan and Max knew that it wasn't going to happen so long as they both had breath in their bodies, but Max still wanted him to lay low for a while. He would have asked her to do the same thing, but, no, he needed to be a hypocrite and keep himself in the midst of all the trouble. He might as well walk right into the police station, whip off his glasses, and proceed with the all-knowing Eyes Only voice to comment on the ghastly weather.

Understandably, Logan had been unable to convince Max that he was right, and she'd somehow restrained herself from punching him in the stomach. Despite this admirable self-restraint, they'd still had a terrible fight, the end result of which was Max storming out of the apartment, leaving Logan to contemplate his actions alone in his very large and empty bed. Unfortunately, it seemed the only ruminating he'd done was in regard to how he could further aggravate the higher ups.

"Guess you shouldn't have done that hack, huh?" Max added spitefully. Of course, it was natural for Logan to feel the need to assure the public that he wasn't going anywhere, but did he have to do it in a way that seemed like he was spitting directly into the face of the DA's office? She'd only been out of the public eye for a few months, and she just wanted to relax, and get her life back to normal. Was it so much to ask that she and her family could be safe for just a little while?

"Right, like Sketchy's going to follow through on a weird experience he had one day after he was bashed over the head," Logan scoffed, standing and heading for the window. For a moment, and not for the first time in the last twelve hours, Max could've kicked him. She stood up, ready to get out of the stuffy penthouse, but she needed Logan to understand that she didn't consider Sketchy's little coincidence as anything to brush off. She made sure they had eye contact before she continued.

"He's training himself to be a reporter," she reminded Logan coldly, and she would have enjoyed the irony of her next words if it wasn't such a serious matter. "You taught him that. You've been teaching him about following leads. Sketchy might be a stoner and a flake, but he can still put things together. He helped us before – you know he's not as dumb as he looks. He knows what I am, and he knows Eyes Only has been connected with the transgenics for… oh…" she pretended to count on her fingers, "how about that?… for as long as we've been out in the world." She pointed an accusatory finger at him, continuing slowly, clearly, and forcefully. "You need to be more careful."

"Max…" Logan began, but Max only cut him off.

"There are Eyes Only posters all over the place offering _a half a million dollars_ for your ass; there's only so much I can do to protect you!" Didn't he get it? How could he not understand that this scared her?

They stared at each other, willing the other to see things the "right" way. Max refused to storm out again. She didn't think it was such a good idea to leave Logan alone when the entire city was looking for him. Even though she was more than a little angry with him, she wasn't going to leave him. Why did he have to be so aggravatingly stubborn? Seriously, would it hurt him to take a vacation from Eyes Only? Would a week kill him?

"Okay," Logan finally said quietly. "I'll lay low for the week." He gave her that look. The look which said that, while he wasn't apologizing, he was conceding that there was a chance he could be wrong.

"Thank you," Max said quietly, for both the promise and the half-apology. Their eyes met, and the tension in the air seemed to almost instantly evaporate. She smiled, "So, what would you like to do during your vacation?"

With a small laugh, Logan crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Max's waist. Her smile grew as she relaxed into his arms, finding her own arms had somehow migrated around his neck without her noticing. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. This was nice – not fighting – they should try it more often.

"I should get to work," she sighed.

Logan ran a hand across Max's back, and she felt herself relaxing. "Do you have to?" he whispered.

"No."

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**A/N:** I know that the arguing isn't very shippy, but I just like emphasizing how incredibly stubborn they both are. They'll be more likeable in future chapters, I promise. 

TBC...


	3. Clueless

Chapter Three: Clueless

Sketchy's day was about as exciting as he could have possibly expected. He picked up packages, and he dropped them off. He smiled at old ladies and evaded what appeared to be rabid dogs for the pennies Normal threw at him. He made a couple bucks in tips, and he managed to not be hit by any cars, maniacs, hoverdrones (which had been "swerving all weird" of late), or rival bike messengers. By 4:50 he was back at Jam Pony, and, for once, Normal didn't seem to be in the mood to send him out on another run.

The other bike messengers were still hanging around the TV, as a news anchor in a dark suit and perfectly styled hair was explaining something about the manhunt for someone. Original Cindy was watching as well, though she stood apart from the group, leaning against the lockers. She seemed uncharacteristically interested in what the man had to say, so when Sketchy approached her he didn't interrupt. He merely stood next to her and listened.

It wasn't unusual, actually, for them to separate themselves from the other messengers. They were different from the others. They were linked to the transgenics. They had hushed conversations full of codewords and numbers. They belonged to a circle so exclusive that those who knew of its existence felt estranged from their former friends, and rightly so. Original Cindy, Sketchy, even Normal were no longer ordinary Ordinaries. They were different, and they didn't really mind.

"…and so, the District Attorney insists that they will not allow this 'cyberterrorist' to 'continue to mock the government of this land.' I'm Alan Brinkley, and this is 24hour News on channel 24."

"What's going on?" Sketchy asked as the screen faded to a commercial.

"Don't you know?" Original Cindy asked, crossing her arms and looking at him like he was the biggest idiot… ever. "Didn't you see the posters?"

"No…"

"Well, the DA's hunting down Eyes Only, and he's promising to catch the man before the end of the week."

"Yeah, and there's a huge reward for information!" Another messenger interrupted excitedly. Original Cindy gave the particularly vocal messenger a withering glance, and turned back to Sketchy, who couldn't believe what he had just heard. His head spun uncomfortably. This was really flipped.

"But… Eyes Only's one of the good guys!" he said indignantly. "He's, like, _the_ good guy."

"Whatever, sugar," Original Cindy laughed, though it sounded a bit forced. "This girl can't worry her head over people she don't know. She's got too many friends to look out for."

"Right…" Sketchy nodded. Somehow, that just didn't sound right. On second thought, nothing she'd said all day had sounded "right."

"Go home, Sketch," she advised. "Get some rest. Put some ice on that empty head of yours, and you'll feel better in the morning."

Without another word, she turned and strolled out of the building, ignoring Normal's protests that it was only 4:58, and leaving behind a very confused man with a throbbing head. Something else was bothering him. He didn't know what, but something was definitely different. He didn't think he was the one who was different, but then, how would he know? With a small, exhausted sigh, he realized he was probably just tired, and he set his sights on home and a good night's sleep.

* * *

TBC... 


	4. Suspicion

Chapter Four: Suspicion

When Max walked into Jam Pony the next morning, she was less than pleased to see that the posters the DA's goons were distributing had been posted up throughout the building. In fact, one entire wall had been completely covered by the audacious fliers announcing that her boyfriend was a wanted man. Max stopped, and fought the desire to rip the damnable things down. Instead, she made a show of crooking her head and reading the notice all the way through. An entire wall filled with Logan's eyes stared back at her.

"What do you think?" Original Cindy asked quietly as she stepped next to Max.

"I think even I could use an extra half-mil," Max replied cheekily, just loud enough for those nearest to her to hear. Then she lowered her voice so that it was barely perceptible, "This sucks."

"You got that right," Original Cindy answered. She did Max a favor and tore down a poster in each hand.

"That's right," Normal shouted, "Get that graffiti out of here! How many times do I have to tell you deadbeats not to tape things on the wall? Huh? Who's gonna clean up this mess?"

"I will," Sketchy offered, sauntering down the ramp and into the building. He had his arm raised, not unlike a little kid asking a question of his teacher.

"Fine, get on it," Normal grumbled.

With a grin, Sketchy set himself to the task of cleaning the wall, carefully removing each flier. He used his nail to scrape the tape off the wall, then gently folded it behind the paper. After watching him for a minute, Max lost patience. She wanted those fliers down, and she wanted them down now. With a little grunt of exasperation, she ripped four of the posters from the wall. Recovering her composure quickly, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and handed the wadded up papers to Sketchy, who was looking at her in a way that brought his little coincidence of the day before to the forefront of her mind.

"Just trying to help," she shrugged nonchalantly. "Hey, how's your head?"

"Uhhh… fine," Sketchy replied absently, looking first at Max, then at Original Cindy, and then back to Max.

"Good. You trying to apologize to the trees or something?" That earned Max a strange look from both her friends. She rolled her eyes and explained, "It's a wanted poster, not the man himself."

"Well, I was thinking I might…"

Max didn't stop to listen to him. She could have kicked herself for losing control like that. It was pathetic that she couldn't keep her cool over a couple of stupid posters. She shouldn't let Sketchy get to her. They were all just a bit more excitable after the DA's announcement. In six days, Max was sure, the DA would look like a fool, and everything could return to... well, their sort of normal. With a small sigh, she slid up to the dispatch desk.

"What?" she asked Normal, who was eyeing her suspiciously.

"Nothing," he replied calmly, and handed her a large package. "6150 College."

"You got it, boss," she smiled. He ignored her. At least some things never changed.

As she departed Jam Pony, Max threw a glance over her shoulder to the wall where Sketchy was working. He was still standing there, carefully scraping and folding with the utmost concentration. So what? Sketchy was a fan of Eyes Only. He'd probably cut up the papers and tape them to t-shirts or something. Maybe he would start a picket line in front of the DA's office - one of those "Free so-and-so" rallies. Though, that would generally mean that there was someone in custody…

Stop! Max commanded herself. This was Sketchy. Sketchy was a good guy. He'd helped them escape from Jam Pony during the siege. He's helped run supplies into Terminal City. He adored Eyes Only, he admired the transgenics, and Eyes Only and the transgenics were practically a package deal - where there was one, the other was bound to be somewhere nearby. On the other hand, Sketchy also loved money. In fact, he had been known to do some very dumb things for even the smallest amounts of pocket change.

It was going to be a long six days.

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**A/N: **Hooray! It's Friday. I absolutely adore Fridays. In fact, inhonor of Friday, well, actually,_ because _it's Friday, I may be able to post another chapter, or possibly two, before the day is even over. Stay tuned... 


	5. Guess Who

Chapter Five: Guess Who

Bottle cap? No. Too small. Poster tube? Definitely no. Both were the wrong size, and much too… circular. What he needed was something that was move of an oval, something that he could fit right over the picture and trace. An egg? Yeah, but where was he going to get an egg? Besides, eggs roll around. He'd never be able to keep it in one place. What else? What else, whatelse, whatelsewhatelse? Sometimes getting his poor fried brain to work was like pulling teeth…

"Normal!" Sketchy shot up out of his chair, careful to turn his project upside down before he left the lunch table. "Normal, do you have any pliers?"

"Pliers?" Normal replied, looking, as usual, apathetic.

"Yeah, the kind with the oval-ish handle things?" Oh, man, he needed a pair of pliers.

"What for?" Normal asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing in a way that Sketchy was sure he would have found hilarious if the situation hadn't been so serious.

"I'm pulling out all my teeth," he replied sarcastically. It always worked for Max and OC, right? Normal didn't budge. Apparently the sarcasm had to be accompanied by breasts to work.

"Come on Normal, I'm on my lunch break. I'll give them back in five minutes, I swear. You can dock my pay if I don't."

Ah, yes, the magic words. Normal shrugged, mumbled something about checking in the back. He returned moments later and handed Sketchy a small pair of rusted, aged needle-nose pliers. Perfect. With a quick thanks to the boss, Sketchy launched himself back onto his makeshift work table. Hopefully, the pliers would work. He'd already tried it twice freehand to ruinous results, and his finished product had to be perfect, or no one would believe him.

Setting the pliers carefully over the paper, Sketchy took up his magic marker. He took a deep breath to steady himself, took the cap off the marker, took hold of the pliers to keep them in place, and began to trace the oval created by the pliers' handles. Carefully, he switched sides to finish the oval, then moved onto the next. The final product could only be described as completely awesome, and completely mind-blowing.

"Normal!" Sketchy shouted as he gathered up his stuff, hurriedly shoving his papers into his back pack.

"What?" Normal shouted back, the edge in his voice proving how very tired he was growing of his gangliest employee.

"I have to take the rest of the afternoon. Please, man, it's an emergency." He was practically hopping up and down, he was so anxious for an answer. He bounced rapidly on the balls of his feet, murmuring "pleasepleasepleaseplease" until Normal finally rolled his eyes and relented.

"Thank you!" Sketchy shouted, feeling that he could have hugged the older man at that moment. He put the pliers into Normal's outstretched hand and bolted out of the building. He had a lot of thinking to do.

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**A/N:** The last time I wrote something that prompted so many red and green squigglies to pop up on Word, it was for French class. Purposefully bad grammar - the bane of Microsoft's existence (okay, a _slight_ exaggeration). Anyway, sorry this was short, but confining oneself to only one viewpoint per chapter does have its disadvantages. Well, at least the chapters are coming out easy and quickly enough. More soon... 

**A/N2.0:** Oh, and the pliers? They were the only thing in my apartment that would make the right kind of oval when traced, I kid you not. I actually researched this. The "Whatelsewhatelsewhatelse" line - that was me. And, no, I don't know how I came to possess a pair of needle-nose pliers. I don't even know how I know the name of that particular tool.


	6. Love Actually

**A/N: **Quite possibly the shortest chapter I've posted. By the way, I know the chapter names are lame, and someone's probably already done the whole naming-chapters-after-movies thing, but I've always been terrible at thinking up titles and chapter titles, so... yeah, whatever. Then, of course, if we're talking movies, I have to pimp the movie I love with my entire soul because I'm just sappy like that (plus it kind of fit, and I was too lazy to look up something else), and, thus, the title of this chapter. Enjoy!

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Chapter Six: Love Actually

"I talked to Matt Sung today," Logan murmured as he ran a gentle hand through Max's hair.

"I thought you were laying low," she accused lazily, nestling herself closer to the incredibly comfortable pillow that was Logan's chest.

"I am," he said quietly, reassuringly. "I just called to see how the manhunt was going."

"And?" she yawned. God, she felt so tired. She could have fallen asleep right there on the couch, with Logan's hand running through her hair, and the unobtrusive humming of the nightly news in the background. With his arms around her, she always felt so calm.

"They're fielding too many calls to accurately count. They made the reward too high. Practically every person on the West Coast is going to be calling."

"Any chance one of them has a decent lead?" she asked, a feeling of nervousness rolling around in the pit of her stomach and interrupting her precious calm. It wasn't right – bribing people to turn on the few good guys who were left.

"It's always possible, but I've been careful, Max. You know that."

"I know," she whispered, quite unconvincingly if she heard herself correctly. After a moment she spoke again, "Those posters are everywhere. There was a whole wall full of them at work, and Sketchy…"

"Is he getting closer?" Logan asked, suddenly sounding as if he was giving the matter the concern it actually deserved. It wouldn't hurt for him to consider everyone a threat. After all, that's how Max had survived so long.

"I don't know. I don't know if he _looks_ like he's acting strange because I'm nervous or if he _is_ acting strange for the same reason that I'm nervous. You should have seen the way he handled those fliers, though, like they were God's gift to stationary or something."

"Hmm…," Logan mumbled. "So, despite my forced voluntary sabbatical, would you mind if I took a peek into our friend Calvin's background tomorrow?"

"I think that's a good idea," Max admitted.

"Then I'm on it," Logan agreed.

"Tomorrow, though, right?" she asked, not really ready to give up the comfortable position they were in. She felt Logan's laugh more than she heard it, and she knew he was thinking something similar. He shifted slightly, adjusting to a more comfortable position, ready to stay as long as Max wanted.

"Tomorrow."

* * *

TBC... 


	7. Secrets and Lies

Chapter Seven: Secrets and Lies

Getting Original Cindy alone for a few minutes was a task far more difficult than Sketchy had expected. For one thing, the rival messengers had started packing baseball bats, and Max insisted on riding with her friend all morning to make sure that the jerks left her friend alone. Moreover, both Max and Original Cindy were giving him weird looks all day. He couldn't decide if they knew what he was thinking, and thought he was an idiot, or if he was the one acting strange and secretive, and that's why they were looking at him differently.

However, lunchtime, as usual, was Sketchy's savior. Max had plans with Logan, so Original Cindy was left to her own sad little lunch at her usual table. Despite the fact that Sketch ate at that table every day, it took three tries before he was able to successfully complete the approach. His task accomplished, he was mildly disappointed that Original Cindy didn't even look up.

"Hey," he said, feeling really dumb, but at least it resulted in Original Cindy looking up and at him. "How's your lunch?" Lame.

"Bland. You?"

"Oh, I…uh… already ate," Sketchy lied. The truth was that he'd been so energized that morning that he'd been unable to stand still long enough to make his lunch.

"Right…" Original Cindy said quietly, obviously sensing a lie. She looked Sketchy right in the eye, and cocked her eyebrow. That was what he'd been waiting for. That was her "what's going on?" face.

"OC," he began, scooting his chair closer to hers and leaning over the table to whisper conspiratorially, "how well do you know Logan?"

OC shrugged and her attention returned to her sandwich. "You got the wrong girl, Original Cindy's not sleeping with the man."

"That's what I mean," he explained, "Max has been friends with this guy for years, but we know nothing about him. Yeah, he helped out in Terminal City…"

"And came in when this hellhole was surrounded," she interrupted to remind him.

"Right. Who does that?"

"Sketch, did you ever get that bump on your noggin looked at? I think it may be affecting your thinking." She wasn't looking at him. She was looking everywhere but at him. That was unusual. She was generally a look-you-in-the-eye-so-you-get-the-point kind of girl. Weird. It was becoming far too weird.

"OC," he said pointedly, pulling a folder out of his backpack and removing the poster from inside it, "Who does this look like?"

"Sketchy! Why did you draw on a picture of Eyes Only?" she asked, sounding as if she were trying very hard to sound exasperated.

"Who does it look like?" he pressed.

"It looks like Eyes Only," she replied snippily, taking a large bite out of her sandwich.

"Who else?" She had to see it! How could she not? It was perfect. The resemblance was absolutely uncanny. If she couldn't see it, then she needed glasses, and he feared for any pedestrians that happened to be in her way on the street.

"It's just Eyes Only with glasses."

"No, it's not."

"Why don't you just tell me so I can finish my lunch, and you can go be all wiggins somewhere else?"

"Logan!" Sketchy nearly shouted. Cindy flinched. She flinched! He saw it!

"Logan?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sketchy groaned in frustration. "Yes, Logan! How can you not see it?"

"Fool, that don't look anything like Logan," she condescended, the volume of her voice dropping considerably. "You need to get your eyes checked."

"OC!" he protested, but suddenly couldn't think of all the reasons that had led him to his discovery. God, why didn't he ever take a debate class in high school?

"No," OC said firmly, holding up her hand to prevent any further attempts to convince her. "Now, Sketch, whatever you been smoking, you have got to stop, 'cause its frying your brain."

"OC, I swear, I'm completely sober! I haven't had anything in two days!"

It was no use. She'd shut her ears to him. He knew the stony face that sat before him. It was the same expression she wore whenever she didn't want to hear any more excuses as to why he still hadn't been able to pay back the cash he'd borrowed from her.

Resigning himself to the fact that Original Cindy wasn't going to help him talk to Max, and feeling suddenly very heavy, and almost sad somehow, Sketchy quietly excused himself. He knew he wasn't crazy. It was just the idea that seemed crazy. Yet, was it so hard to believe that Logan was Eyes Only?

Turning to take one more look at his friend, Sketchy saw that she was resting her head on her hands, looking as if she were completely exhausted. She shook her head slowly, and he wondered if he should go back and apologize. Before he could take a single step, however, he saw her reach into her vest pocket and pull out a small cell phone. She pressed a few buttons, probably scrolling through the phone book, then held the phone to her ear and waited. Now, Sketchy wasn't really an expert at lip-reading, in fact he'd never even attempted it, but he'd known Original Cindy for years. Without a doubt, the first word out of her mouth before she turned her back to the rest of the building was "Max."

* * *

TBC...


	8. Shattered Glass

**A/N: **Well, it's Sunday night. I don't know how often I'll be able to post this week, but I'll try my best. I really enjoy writing this story, so it shouldn't be too difficult to find time for it. In other, somewhat unrelated news, I'm still typing by candlelight, because the lightfixtures in my apartment are _evil_. Is that the most pathetic thing you've heard all day?

* * *

Chapter Eight: Shattered Glass

"You're kidding," Logan asked, looking completely shocked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Max nodded. In the space of only a few minutes, the air in the apartment had grown incredibly tense… again, and, once more, they sat apart, but this time Max wasn't angry with Logan. She was absolutely terrified for him. If a stoner like Sketchy could figure out Eyes Only's real identity, the cops couldn't be too far behind, right?

Logan sighed, "We have to talk to him."

"We have to keep him quiet," Max agreed firmly.

"You don't think he'll…" Logan stopped, as if he couldn't even finish the sentence. Would Sketchy take the half million dollars? Max was no longer sure. Three days before, she'd been certain that she could trust Sketchy. Now she wouldn't trust him to watch her lunch.

"Did you find out anything about him?" she asked carefully.

"Nothing much," Logan replied with his usual professionalism. "He's had a few drunk in public citations, and a couple write-ups for possession of relatively small amounts of weed, but nothing serious. He's never been in serious trouble or serious debt. He's stayed off the radar as best he could, which I'm guessing is a pattern at Jam Pony."

"Yeah," Max assented. So, really, Sketchy could go either way. Great…

"I called Matt Sung after you left this morning. So far, my name hasn't come up, but he thinks some higher-ups may be keeping information out of his hands."

"They're on to him?"

Logan sighed heavily, "He's not sure. Everyone's real jumpy. He admits that he could just be paranoid, but he wanted me to know, just in case. Luckily, most of my informants are either living under new identities or would be in too much trouble if they came forward. They're not going to say anything."

"I think you underestimate how much trouble a half a million dollars can get a person _out of_," Max replied, almost feeling sick at the idea.

If Sketchy turned Logan in, and Matt Sung couldn't help them, they would have to run, and they'd have to run fast. Max was already mentally packing her bags. She had over five thousand dollars under the floorboards in her apartment, a stash she'd been occasionally adding to over the last several months, usually whenever she bumped into a particularly stupid drug dealer or made more off a fence than she'd expected. She never touched it. She wouldn't allow herself to go near it, no matter how bad her situation was. That money was there for one reason, and one reason only – it was her running money.

"You'd come with me, right?" Logan suddenly asked, proving, once again, that their minds tended to run in similar patterns. His eyes seemed incredibly dark as he asked, and she felt a little twinge of sadness that he didn't know for sure.

She smiled slightly, "Try and stop me."

"I won't," he whispered. He was leaning forward, resting his arms on his legs, staring at some invisible spot on the coffee table. The expression he wore sent a chill running up Max's spine. He was on the verge of seeing his life's work destroyed, and he looked absolutely haunted by the news. It was more than Max could take.

"I hear Canada's nice this time of year," she teased, leaving her seat to sit next to him and take one of his hands in her own. He smiled as she nudged him playfully, and their fingers clasped in a way that completely belied their lighthearted words.

"I was thinking Mexico, maybe Cancun. It would take us longer to get there, but I think we'd enjoy it more." His smile grew, "You'll have to buy a bikini." She laughed, and his eyes lightened. He really did have gorgeous eyes – bright and expressive. Was it really any wonder that someone had finally noticed that they were identical to Eyes Only's?

"What makes you so sure I don't already have one?" she taunted.

"Well, I've been through your underwear drawer," he deadpanned.

Max gasped in mock outrage, delighted that he was responding to her game. "You went through my things?" she accused haughtily.

"I learned from the best."

Their eyes met, and she leaned in to quickly kiss the small, amused smile that was playing about his lips. He tried to turn the kiss into something more, but Max knew she had to get back to work. Lunch was over. She had to watch Original Cindy's back, and check Sketchy's mood. Logan knew it too, and he released her without further attempts at convincing her to stay.

"Hey!" he called out to her as she was almost out the door. She turned and looked at him expectantly. Did he have an idea? A possible solution to this madness? Was he going to add to his bikini theory?

"Be careful," he said quietly.

"You too," she replied, suddenly nervous about leaving him alone. She was torn between the idea of staying with him to protect him, and finding out what dangers awaited him outside. The whole situation just wasn't fair, but, then again, nothing ever was.

* * *

TBC... 


	9. Conspiracy

**A/N: **Friday! Well, actually it's after 12:00, so Saturday! By the way, I'd just like to send out a special message to the frat boy who sat behind me at the SDSU sneak preview of Into the Blue Thursday afternoon (just in case he's reading) - Those are _private thoughts_. Your rather enthusiastic and surprisingly verbal appreciation of Jessica Alba's ass is not something I want to hear, especially when I'm trying to watch a movie. Keep thoughts like that _in your head_. Thank you. Oh, and you're a jackass.

Now, on to the story before the author's note becomes my personal rant blog.

* * *

Chapter Nine: Conspiracy

Sketchy was running out of excuses. He'd given Normal every story he could think of to stay behind at Jam Pony after lunch. He couldn't go out on a run – he was waiting for a phone call/ he'd run over his hand on his last run / he'd locked his sector pass in his locker and forgot the lock combination/ his tongue had bright green spots on it, and he was convinced that he was contagious. Sadly, Normal reminded him that he wasn't allowed to receive personal phone calls at work/ it was impossible to run over one's own hand while riding / the lockers didn't even have locks. One quick look at Sketchy's tongue had also revealed that, unless Sketchy was high, which also wasn't allowed at work, there wasn't any way he could have possibly seen green spots on his tongue.

Finally, Sketchy agreed to go out on a run, but he informed his boss that he just had to return to his locker for a second to retrieve his sector pass. There, he dawdled for as long as possible. He had to wait for Max. She was late, as usual, and it wasn't helping his nerves. He felt like he was going to jump out of his skin if she didn't show up soon. He just really needed to talk to her.

When Max finally stomped back into Jam Pony, she looked dangerous. When he caught her eyes, the anger he saw there reminded him of what she was capable of. For the first time in a long time, Sketchy felt truly afraid of her. It only lasted a moment before he remembered all the times Max had helped him, and what a good friend she was, and everything Original Cindy had made sure he understood the day he found out about Max's... history. She kept eye contact with him for a moment that seemed a bit longer than necessary, and it suddenly occurred to him that, while she genuinely looked annoyed, the fierceness seemed almost calculated.

"It's raining again," she informed the room in her trademark bitchy tone. The remaining messengers all groaned as one. Though it seemed to rain almost constantly in Seattle, and each messenger had to learn how to deal with it in his or her own way, the last few weeks had been uncharacteristically dry. That meant that all the trash and other contaminants that were usually washed away quite regularly had been slowly building up. The streets would be coated with a disgusting sludge of mud, oil, garbage, trash juice, and other unidentifiable (but no less disgusting) elements by the end of the day. Every messenger would be coated with the foul mixture, and tips would be scarce since no one wants to tip the guy who smells like compost. Even Max, beautiful as she was, wouldn't be able to flirt some idiot into a huge tip when she smelled like a dead animal wrapped in rotting sewage.

"No way is Original Cindy riding through that nasty sludge!" The announcement came from the other side of the room, from which Original Cindy had emerged, seemingly from out of nowhere.

"Well, then, _Original Cindy_ doesn't have to get paid," Normal replied with a contemptuous snort.

"I think I'm going on strike," Original Cindy sniffed in response.

"You can't go on strike," Normal informed her as he went back to his work, "There's no such thing as a bike messenger's union." He threw a package at her, and they glared at each other for a full minute.

Sketchy took advantage of the verbal confrontation to carefully approach Max. She was watching the exchange with obvious interest. After all, if Original Cindy decided to go home, Max wouldn't have to be her bodyguard for the rest of the afternoon. Frankly, Sketchy couldn't care less. He had other, more serious matters weighing on his mind. Whether or not OC went home smelling like a daisy or dumpster ranked pretty low on his list of concerns.

In what was always a dangerous move, no matter what her mood, Sketchy gently pulled Max's arm. She turned with alarming speed, and Sketchy nearly peed his pants. Jesus, he was nervous. Max really knew how to scare the shit out of someone.

"What?" she asked, quietly annoyed.

"Uh… Max…" he stammered, "I… uh… did OC… I mean, did she talk to you? Because I was kind of hoping…"

"Can this wait?" Max asked sharply.

"No."

Max's face registered her surprise. Sketchy released a shaky breath. He had absolutely no idea where the sudden rush of courage had come from. He was on uncertain ground. He was incredibly confused, and he no longer understood what was up and what was down. He couldn't decide if Max was deliberately trying to intimidate him, or if she was just in a really pissy mood, but her almost amused look of surprise didn't help.

"Okay," she shrugged. They stepped away from the growing crowd of messengers who were gathering to hear Original Cindy's spontaneous speech on courier's rights, which, it was soon clear, was nothing more than an elaborate plot to stay inside the dry, relatively clean building.

Behind the lockers, it was quiet and private. Max seemed to have relaxed. She leaned up against the wall, and merely watched as he built up his courage again. Questions raced through his mind. How much had Original Cindy told her? If Max knew what he wanted to ask her, why didn't she just say so?

"Okay, Max," he said quietly, automatically lowering his voice so low that he could barely be heard, "I know, I _know_ it sounds weird… or maybe it doesn't… but, okay, just… look at this." He pulled the folded up wanted poster out of his pocket and pushed it toward her. She accepted it with cool detachment, and inspected it silently. She hadn't said a word since they'd pulled away from the crowd, and it was somehow scary and reassuring at the same time.

She actually looked at Sketchy's artwork for longer than he'd expected her to. She seemed to actually search it, and it was obvious she knew what she was supposed to find. She knew what Sketchy wanted her to find. Original Cindy had told her. God, it was like some kind of conspiracy… He stared hard at his shoes. He needed a new pair, he knew, but he couldn't afford a new pair, especially a _new_ new pair, so he would continue to ignore the problem for a few more weeks.

"Sketchy," Max said firmly, but without any discernible malice. He took a deep breath, and looked up. She looked him right in the eye, and he felt like a defendant hearing his sentence being handed down by a judge.

"You're an idiot."

As she swept past him, Sketchy felt his heart drop. This wasn't right. Max was his friend. Why… why would she…? Didn't she know? How could she not? It was obvious! Why was everyone refusing to acknowledge it? Did she think that he couldn't be trusted? After everything he'd done to help her and her people… He felt confused, and almost... empty somehow. He felt betrayed, though he couldn't identify the feeling as such. It wasn't a feeling he was familiar with. He only knew that it hurt.

A few minutes later, he realized that she'd taken his poster with her.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, I have a busy weekend ahead of me, but I'll try to post at least one more chapter. There aren't many more. It's not that complicated a story. TBC... 

**A/N2.0: **Also, I'm _thinking_ about continuing "The Sickroom." I have a few ideas, but so far nothing's taking hold. I am officially soliciting ideas. Please drop me a line (email or whatever) if you have any. I just... I don't know, I don't have any real ideas for anything after this story, and I like having something to write. It keeps my mind off of French class.


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